


Grrrrrr Purr Grrrr

by My_Black_Crimson_Rose6



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Canon Compliant, Come Eating, Developing Relationship, Dirty Talk, Facials, Flexibility, M/M, Masturbation, Mild Kink, Permanent Injury, Slow Build, Strangers to Lovers, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2015-09-02
Packaged: 2018-04-18 16:29:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4712723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Black_Crimson_Rose6/pseuds/My_Black_Crimson_Rose6
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All they hear is growling. All Wash hears is horrible kinky promises for later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grrrrrr Purr Grrrr

**Author's Note:**

> For [tuckroxysprite](http://tuckroxysprite.tumblr.com/) (on tumblr) whose [Mainewash short](http://tuckroxysprite.tumblr.com/post/127773052562/mainewash-with-maine-flirting-with-washington) spurred on this 5641 word smut filled oneshot. 
> 
> School has just started, posting this between classes. Enjoy my darlings, I'm going to go check it over again later. Please bare with me, I apologize.

**[MOTHER OF INVENTION:  13:00HRS]**

It started when Maine met Washington. The rookie was quick to befriend as many people as he could—he was friendly. The fact that York and North seemed to adopt him had Maine’s teeth grinding together. It was no secret that the so-called ‘lockpick’ and Maine didn’t get along. And while he knew of the questionable relationship that he and his commanding officer shared it was not Maine’s place to question Carolina on whom she deems worthy to share her bed some nights.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” Washington’s confidence with talking to people was an act, Maine could see it. Could see how he’d suck in a deep breath before making conversations with people. Could see it when the rookie would seldom remove his armor. He tried too hard to be liked, to prove that he could be trusted and that he could have their back—Maine didn’t like that.

He grunted, “You try too hard.”

Washington’s shoulders tensed, back ramrod straight beneath his suit. “I—I,” he stuttered, posture deflating as he nodded. “Is it that obvious?” he inquired, and Maine turned to take the rookie in—to _really_ see how he holds himself.

Washington’s fingers twitched at his side, helmet tilted up to meet Maine’s as the man took him in. He favoured his left side. Maine shook his head, “no.” Reaching out up to tap his orange visor with two fingers.

Washington chuckled lightly, “just something you picked up on.” And Maine smiled beneath his helmet, nodding when he answered correctly. “I’m just... nervous. Haven’t really been in orbit before now, lived on one of the outer colonies my whole life, y’know.”

Maine didn’t. He was from the Spartan Project, he and a few others of his brothers were gifted to Freelancer in hopes that their research came to a bountiful fruition. Agent Iowa and Agent Illinois. So Maine hummed, pushing the man’s helmet covered head back until he stumbled.

“I know, I know. I know it’s just _space_ and stuff, just... I don’t know; pretend to like me for a bit, yeah? The Director told me that I’m to be providing support for your next mission.” Maine snorted, turning on his heel to make his way to the cafeteria before the twins or York could steal his sweets. Washington was providing support for the team’s _tank_ ; Maine doesn’t think the rookie understands just how humorous he finds this.

 

**[MOTHER OF INVENTION: 07:00HRS]**

The ship functioned of Earth time—Washington groaned batting away the hands that went to pull down his sheets. Even after a month of being on board the ship Washington’s internal clock couldn’t fully make the shift from COLONY31189—never really got the chance to be named properly. There was what the inhabitants would call it, the ones who _ruled_ it would call it, the legal force that _thought_ they controlled the colony would refer to it as, and then whatever Earth called it.

“Go away Maine,” he whined, curling in on himself when the man tore the covers from his person and threw them to the bed parallel to his. He groaned when his near-constant mission partner began to mould him into an upright position. Moaning out in anguish when the man would grunt at him in reply as he slipped on his boots and zipped him up in a sweater. “Noooo, Maine, I don’t care if they have fresh fruit today—please just let me _sleep_.”

On 31189 fruit and vegetables were rare. They had the shit that came in cans that they’d fight over. The rich got the fresh stuff—the meat and produce. Wash had turned a few tricks to get his hands on a head of lettuce, stole some apples too as he was running out.

Maine picked the man up, throwing him over his shoulder with a smirk as his tiny blond haired partner squawked and squeaked. “Maine! Maine no! Maine!” could be heard throughout the halls as they made their way to the mess hall. The others laughing when the blond continued to be held like a sack of potatoes as Maine assembled their breakfast tray. The blond suggesting kiwi and mango be added to his pile as well—Maine did.

**[MOTHER OF INVENTION: 20:34HRS]**

He tossed a baseball in the air, catching it again in his bare palm. Underneath him Maine continued his push-ups as Washington relaxed stretched over his back. “You have an interesting taste in music,” he mused, dropping the ball he was tossing to carefully roll over onto his stomach. Arms wrapping loosely around the man’s neck, Washington got comfortable.

Five months since he’s become a Freelancer, five months of rooming with Maine and learning the man’s tells. Maine was the one that had the team’s back but Washington... well, on the board Washington was known as the weapons expert, but to Maine... to Maine Washington was _his_ backup. Washington always had his back; Washington was the one to pull him back and remind him that he wasn’t just a Spartan anymore— _you’re Agent Maine the Freelancer. You’re my Maine Man. I need you with me buddy._

He nuzzled the back of the man’s neck, lips ghosting over the stubble of dark hair growing in. Maine sucked in a breath, the up and down motion continued as Washington’s lips increased their pressure. Growing confidant Wash pressed a kiss to the man’s ear, then to his jaw.

That growl was new; he could feel it vibrating his whole body. Maine stopped, lowering himself to the floor—the rumbling continued. “Maine?” Washington sat up, straddling the man’s back. “I— _shit_ , I’m—”

He shook his head, “keep going.” Muscles bunching as he shifted to fold his arms under his head. His upper body completely bare, everywhere Washington touched was rich brown skin marred with healed flesh wounds. “Go ahead,” his fingers shook as he leaned in.

Pressing his lips to the newest scar tissue over Maine’s back and pecking up the length of it. He sucked in a breath, fanning out butterfly kisses up his back. “Maine I...” he swallowed thickly when he reached the man’s neck again. The larger man hummed, rolling onto his back and nearly taking Washington out in the process. Wash laughed; leg trapped under Maine’s back and still wrapped up in the man now beside him.

“I know,” he answered, lips swallowing his laughter. Tongue sliding against his; his _hand_ nearly covered the entirety of Wash’s face. “I know,” he whispered again, placing a kiss to his nose before pecking both his eyelids. “I do too.”

 

**[MOTHER OF INVENTION: 03:00HRS]**

They worked well together, almost frightenly so. It kept Washington up at night sometimes; made him think just how important this man has become to him—how he makes him _feel_. Makes him want to stand out and make him proud. It doesn’t matter than Washington is still considered to be the rookie; it doesn’t matter to Maine as he wraps an arm around him before falling into a sleep.

It doesn’t matter when Maine is purring in his ear as he clings in him in his sleep, his large body wrapped protectively around him in their pushed together beds. He fears falling in love though he’s already aware that he’s _in love_ with Maine. He’s afraid to voice it aloud—it makes it _real_ then.

That night Washington doesn’t get much sleep, he doesn’t get much shuteye though his eyes are shut and his breath even. He thinks of Maine, of himself and a life for them planet side. Maybe one day he’d retire and go get himself a little garden, that way he’d always have produce and he’d never have to fight for it again.

 

**[MOTHER OF INVENTION: 15:00HRS]**

They nudged their helmets together, lingering in the moment before they were to leave on their next mission. “I love you,” it didn’t matter how often he’d say it or where he’d say it, it always made his cheeks darken and his heart rate to jump.

He wrapped an arm around Maine’s shoulders, “I love you too.”

 

 

 

**[MOTHER OF INVENTION]**

Washington isn’t sure of anything anymore. He’s not sure what to do with his hands; does he take Maine’s and pretend that they aren’t shaking? Does he insist to change his bandages again as the man sleeps so he wakes and doesn’t see the ever present saturation to once crisp white bandages?

He’s hardly slept since the sarcophagus mission, hardly left the man’s side at all. He followed him from the civilian medical ship, watched as they extracted bullet upon bullet out of the man’s chest, neck and shoulders. He took up residence by his bedside while he remained unconscious for the next three days until the Director insisted on moving Maine back to the Mother of Invention when he learned of the diagnostics.

Maine’s throat was _shot_ , his voice never to return again. Never again would Washington hear him whisper _I love you_ before bed. Never again will he hear him laugh that rare _loud_ and chest rattling laugh of his. Never again will he get to hear that low voice whisper _filthy_ , horribly fantastic things while he held Washington tight in his arms.

Those rich brown eyes would open and close, focusing in and out before he’d slip back into another fitful slumber.

Washington has no idea how long he’s been here now—has a new day passed? What was the time? All he knows is when the start of each hour begins when a medical personnel checks up on Maine.

 

**[SOMEWHERE PLANETSIDE: 01:12HRS]**

York squatted beside him, “how’s the big guy doing?” They’re waiting for the guard to come back their way—take him out, press forwards until reaching the safe and retrieving the files. South and North had scoped the place out weeks ago, gave the two the run down on what to expect going in there.

Washington sighed, “He was still out of it when I said good-bye.” It was more than a good-bye; an _I love you_ , and _I’ll be back so you better be up by then_ , and finally five lingering kisses—one on each eyelid, each cheek, and finally his chapped lips.

York nodded, “we’ll be okay. Maine’s a tough guy, he’ll most likely wake up and tear the MOI apart to get to his suit when he finds out they sent you on a mission with me.” He was teasing; Wash could tell by his tone that he was winking.

He licked his lips, checking over his ammunition again. “Yeah... yeah, I know. I just worry, it’s...” The guard was starting to make his way back towards them, the Freelancers perked up at the sound of the footsteps returning.

As much as they’d like to continue with their conversation, as much as Wash needed to know that Maine was alright, they still had a mission to see to completion and neither wished to return to MOI empty handed.

 

**[MOTHER OF INVENTION: 09:30HRS]**

Carolina was the one that stood at his side when he finally came to—when he was able to keep his eyes open and take in his surrounding for the first time in weeks. His throat felt scratchy and dry and there was something keeping him from clearing it. He took in the tubes he was connected to, the two chairs to his right and the smell—like shit masked up by _hospital_.

He sucked in a breath through his noise and hopes that both his commanding officer and Washington didn’t witness him shit the bed. He could piece together that he must have been injured, that there was morphine getting pumped into his system along with fluids and his other necessities—he gets that. It just didn’t make it any less embarrassing for him to be out for that long of a time that he couldn’t take care of himself.

**“Where’s Wash?”**

It doesn’t sound like anything he wanted. Just a mess of sounds, of vibrations lodged in his throat and a flair of pain spiked. Carolina’s gaze softened, “I’m so sorry,” she cupped his cheek. “I’m so sorry Maine, this is _my fault_. I should’ve been looking for snipers; I should’ve been watching _your_ back too.” She shook her head when tears gathered.

In his years of knowing his C.O.—calling Agent Carolina a _friend_ —he’s never seen this side of her. It wasn’t _right_. **“It’s what I’m here for,”** he tried to speak again. Again he was left with the strange vibrations rumbling around in his chest and throat.

“I’ll make it better, I promise. I’ll get you a new voice and you’ll be back up and kicking ass like normal. I swear it,” the look that sparked was something he was used to. That spark of a drive (a goal) in the sea of desperation. “I promise Maine,” she swore, promised him something he couldn’t fully understand.

He could still _speak_... his throat was just a little soar, a little under used right now. Get him some water and it’ll be fine. He’d sing the damn American Anthem if she wanted proof (she was from Earth, some place called United States, after all). His heart thundered away in his chest; _where’s Wash?_

“Wash and York are on a mission right now,” her soft voice tearing his attention away from the blankets covering him, gripped tightly in his hands and back out of his head. “Word is that they’re inbound and only supporting some minor scratches and bruising. Do you want me to tell Wash your awake?”

Maine shook his head in the negative— _no_. No he didn’t want Wash to see him piece together what was left of his mess. He needed to see the doctor, to hear from _them_ what Carolina was hinting at. Maine was _fine_. Just get him some water and his _fucking suit_ and he’ll be up again like nothing.

**[MOTHER OF INVENTION: 00:30HRS]**

He snuck in. He snuck in and picked the damn lock; creeping into the man’s hospital room to take up his rightful place beside him on the too small bed. He was expecting him to be sleeping though; instead Maine stared up at him with his hand tucked between the pages of his book. He could cry, he could run and jump into the man’s lap and blubber all over his face like a hopeless fool in love.

Washington slunk towards his lover instead, “hey.” He smiled, taking a seat by the man’s hip and covering the book with one of his hands. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to be here when you woke up. I’ve... well, York and North had to tear me away sometimes to get me out of the hospital room since your injury.”

Maine’s gaze heavy, _hollow_ , as he continued to watch. Watch as Wash forced a grin on his face then a little chuckle from his lips. His smile slipped, “Love?”

Maine rumbled; clenching his eyes shut before looking away. He had a notebook and pen sitting on the bedside table, all ready and folded over to a crisp blank sheet. He could grab it now, write what Wash most likely already knew—he’d never talk again. Never say those three words followed by the man’s name. Never.

“No—nonono,” Wash shook his head, crawling up and onto the bed to straddle his lover. “Don’t you _dare_ say that! You are not broken, and you are _certainly not_ weak. Fuck that bullshit, you’re _my Maine_.” He couldn’t grab the man’s face, couldn’t pull him in and steal his breath away with a nice long kiss. Those bandages nice and white, freshly cleaned and all that.

Maine’s chest rumbled, the hand not covered by the book clenching the covers tightly.

“I _love you_ , it’s never going to change—certainly not because you’ve gone all rumbly. So stop with the _‘you should find someone better than me’_ bullshit ‘cause there’s never going to be anyone _better than you_.” Maine’s rich brown eyes bore into Washington’s gray ones; brows furrowed and lips pressed together in confusion. “What?”

**“You understand me.”**

Washington frowned, “of course I understand you. You’ve been grunting and growling at me more often than you’ve talked to me. _This_ is how we’ve primarily spoke since the very first day we met!” He gaped at the man, “did you... did you think I wouldn’t _get you_ because you couldn’t say ‘ _hippopotamus_ ’? Dude, sometimes I can’t even say hippopotamus so we’re _good_.”

Washington’s grin made his ears turn pink; made his neck prickle and his heart thump a little harder.

Spartans were bred and raised for _war_. They were made to die a hero’s death and wore their injuries with pride. Maine expected to do the same. He wanted Washington to hear him speak again more than anything else, it's what _ruined_ him—what made him _soft_. Made accepting it feel _wrong_. It could be _why_ he agreed to accept Carolina’s A.I. unit, for the _team_ and for the mission—for Washington.

Washington cupped his cheek, “I love you. You can’t get rid of me. Not now, not ever. You agreed to retirement with me so I’m holding you to it.” He had a band-aid wrapped around his middle finger from biting at the nail until it bled. Maine clenched his eyes shut, leaning into the caress.

**“Okay.”**

**[MOTHER OF INVENTION: 17:20HRS]**

Maine was released from medical before his implantation was ready. He wasn’t yet cleared for training, and neither was he ready to zip up his Kevlar suit and have the second skin press against his throat. He wasn’t cleared for any sort of strenuous activity though he kept trying to convince Washington to ignore the doctor’s orders and _let him take care of him_.

He hasn’t had sex for over a month and now that he was back in his bed with his lover’s ass firmly nestling his cock, it was torture to keep the act up any longer. So he made it his mission to get laid.

 **“Have I ever told you how attractive you are?”** He never used to speak as much as he does now in these weird forms of growling, purring and rumbling. The vibrations still make his throat feel off, but the more he pushes the less it bothers him. Before his injury Washington claimed that most of their conversations were done (on Maine’s end at least) with short answers, grunts and other miscellaneous noises, and _lots_ of body posturing. **“You should’ve become a model, _David_. I’d buy your print outs. Hang them on the wall.”**

Washington’s eyes widen as he stares down at his plate of pasta.

 **“I think you’ll know what I’d do.”** He bites into the bread roll as Washington swallows thickly. **“Think of you sucking me off. Your lips spread wide around my cock as I fuck into your mouth. I’d think of you climbing on top of me, spreading yourself open and taking my cock. Riding it until you’re a sobbing, whimpering mess.”**

North’s eyes narrow as he glances between the pair. They all knew that Washington could understand those growls, rumbles and purrs. The expression that the blond was wearing, paired with Maine’s smirk as he continued to stab at his pasta, had the man confused. He thought the two of them were close, everyone assumed that the two of them were dating.

“Maine,” Washington’s voice cracks. He’s quick to clear it before continuing, the pink blush finally starting to seep from beneath his collar and up his neck. “ _Maine_. You’re still _healing_.”

Maine purrs, **“I can sit back and watch you work then. You always make the best faces—I miss them _David_.”** He smirks down at his blushing partner; the man’s eyes grow wide as the pink hue continues up to his ears. **“You bite at your lips until they bruise. You always try to blame me but it’s all _you_ , baby, all you. You don’t even notice doing it—just like how you lick at your fingers, bite at the tips and suck when you try to be quiet.”**

Washington’s pink hue darkens with each new sentence. Maine is _loving it_. Loving how easy it is to make his lover flush—it normally a _challenge_. A test of wits that would leave Maine’s lips brushing the shell of Washington’s ear as he shivered and whimpered. But today was _easy_.

Washington must have only been holding on by threads.

 **“Just picture it, _David_ , picture it when the doctor says that I’m no longer on bed rest. Picture just how hard I’d fuck you. The whole ship will hear— _ah Maine, give me more Maine! I love your giant dick inside me. Fill me up and breed me._ ”** He takes a sip of his water, fighting back the chuckle when Wash starts choking on his own beverage. **“Imagine me taking your cock into my mouth, fingers deep within you, just milking you for everything.”**

His face is impossibly bright as he glares at him, “you’re _filthy_.” Maine purrs at the compliment; Washington _loves it_ when he talks dirty to him. Loves it when his eyes him up in public, eyes hungry and lingering over his ass and groin.

 **“To bed then?”** He continued to smirk, raising a brow at the man’s resolve cracking. Maine won.

**[MOTHER OF INVENTION: 18:00HRS]**

They wasted no time tearing each other out of their clothes, littering their once spotless room with articles of clothing before Maine took up the majority of the bed. “You’re _horrible_ , you know that right? You’re going to hurt your throat and it’ll take longer to heal.”

He ran deft fingers over the expansion of his chest, over the lengths of scars and staring at the sniper shot that Maine took to the chest. His wounds were still healing, the skin around the stitches looking good—no infection or straining. **“You need this just as much as I do.”** He did have a point; Washington missed the intimacy of sex more than just the lust of it. Missed having a part of Maine inside him, missed being connected—whole and protected, wrapped up in his body. Losing themselves to their bodies as their minds raced and made their lips form words of endearment.

Washington smiled, pressing a kiss to the man’s cheek. “Hush you, don’t strain that voice. We’re already going to break doctor’s orders so try to be quiet, yeah?” he teased, pressing one more kiss to the man’s cheek before turning. He straddled the man’s waist still, Maine’s long thick cock now twitching against his as raised himself higher onto his knees and popped open the container of lube.

He was going to make a show out of it—stretch himself wide and gaping, slick and twitching before he’d sit upon that man’s cock and rock them into completion. Maine spread his cheeks, squeezing the flesh in his large calloused hands, licking his lips at the sight of the man’s hole as Wash slipped his hand back. Circling his middle finger around the rim, moaning at the sensations it sent through his system.

Maine’s thumbs slipping closer, wanting to press in and _feel_ the heat around them. “None of that, Love. Just sit there and be good, I’ll take good care of you.” He slipped a finger into himself, hissing at the feeling. It’s been so long, far too long since he’s even had a _finger_ within him. He could seldom imagine taking Maine’s cock again. Moaning as he crooked his finger and pushed in deeper, “ _ah_.” Washington tossed his head back, moaning as his eyes fluttered shut and he bucked back against it.

“Maine,” he moaned the man’s name, slipping and wiggling that finger inside him—breath catching as he teased another to the rim. Caressing himself—teasing, “ _Shit_. Ah—f _uuuc_ k!” He finally slipped the second digit in, moaning wantonly as he rocked himself. Back onto his fingers, shivering when Maine’s thumbs began slipping closer moaning again and _again_ as the man behind him began to add to the pleasure. Tossing his head back, Wash hissed out an “I got this baby, I got this. Just...”

Maine chuckled, **“keep going. Work yourself open. You can take four, go on. Keep pleasuring yourself.”** It was different, the man’s purrs vibrating the whole bed with how much _base_ he threw in there. **“So hot. Just swallowing those fingers down with _ease_ ,”** he moans, easing Washington’s hips back against his fingers again. Mirroring his smaller lover’s moans that slip from his lips.

He plays with himself, avoiding his prostate for as long as possible and instead focusing on stretching himself wider. His mind slipping into his imagination—that it was Maine’s much larger fingers opening himself wide, pressing against his prostate. _“_ Ah!” he massages the nerves that fire waves of pleasure through his system. Buckling back into his fingers, pressing against his postdate again and again.

His cock leaks something fierce, leaving cooling wet patches against his stomach, the rest of the pre-cum dribbling down his cock and making a mess of himself and Maine. “Maine, Maine— _oh Maine!_ ” he repeats the man’s name, wrapping his free hand around his flushed cock and tugging twice. He came with a long primal moan, body shaking as cum spurted from him. His chest covered in the milky white fluid, the rest splattering over Maine’s own swollen cock and hairy legs.

His fingers slip from his hole, “ _shit_.” He curses, glancing over his shoulder to Maine. “I’m sorry,” he flushed, taking in the man’s lustful gaze—those pupils blown wide, nostrils flaring and bandaged throat swallowing thickly.

 **“Keep going,”** the man growled, pulling the man’s cheeks apart again. His hole not yet stretched enough to take him comfortably—but the twitch of the ring of muscles made his cock ache. **“You can fit two more in, go on.”**

Washington whimpered, sucking in a breath as he pushed three fingers within himself. He was sensitive now, loose and pliable. Working himself open for the end goal in mind now that his first orgasm was drying on his chest. He’ll yearn for more soon; his dick will find interest in his actions soon enough—he could feel it twitching already. A little twitch as he brushed against his prostate again and hissed in a moan that threatened to escape. “Four right?” he swallowed, staring down at the man’s cock flushed a darker brown compared to the rest of the man’s body.

Maine only hummed and Wash was quick to slip the forth finger into himself—shit. “ _Ah! Fucking_ shit,” he cursed, feeling the burn of that stretch. He bit at his lips, clenching his eyes shut as he rolled his hips back against the fingers he had buried within himself. It’s been too long since they’ve done this; Maine’s thumb slipped in, teasing the sensitive nerves close to the rim.

He pared it with a caress to his prostate—fingers pressing and sliding against the nerves as he bucked back and forth. Torn between the pleasure and the slight pain that came with the over stimulation. He moaned, whimpered—sighing and tossing his head back and forth at the mixture of sensations.

Wash moaned, “Like that baby? You like how my greedy hole accepts you? How it just _wants_ more— _ah!_ Maine, I want you. Baby I need you. I can take it,” he was sucking in breath after breath of air, lungs burning. Yeah. Yeah, Washington was ready to go again. The over stimulation; the constant massaging of his prostate and the _need_ to have Maine within him stirring his cock again.

He slipped his fingers out of his hole, groaning when Maine moaned. He could feel how stretched he was, could only picture how wide he must look. He felt so _empty_.

Fingers fumbling around the bottle of lube that he deposited to the bed, squirting out an ample amount and slicking his lover’s cock up. He shuffled forward, humming at the little moan that escaped Maine when his cock along the underside of his balls, between his cheeks all proud and tall. The man’s dick was as impressive as the rest of him; long and thick, dark and _fierce_. Wash guided the man’s prick against his hole, smiling over his shoulder when Maine pulled his cheeks apart again to watch his cock get swallowed by the man’s asshole.

Inch by inch Wash sank down upon that dick. Moan dragging on and on _and on_ , until he finally sank to the base. **“You take it so well. Like I was _made_ for you. To fill you up and turn you to a whimpering mess.” ** He always preferred saying how _he_ was the one made to fit with Washington, like _Washington_ was the perfect being and he was the one that needed him.

He rolled his hips, gripping onto those muscular thighs as his hips rose and fell. Pulling moans and groans out of both himself and his partner. It wasn’t enough though; he couldn’t get the pace right. **“Turn around, I need to see you.”** Wash nodded his head, slipping off the man’s cock and turning around to face him. Taking in the hunger in his gaze as Maine took him in, took in the flush to the man’s chest as his chest rose and fell with each breath.

Washington cupped the man’s face, kissing his lips with a sigh. Their mouths quick to slide open, tongues pressing together lazily in a sweet and soft dance. “I love you Maine,” he whispered as he pulled away, hands falling from his cheeks to his chest and avoiding the bullet wounds there as well.

 **“And I you, David,”** he replied without hesitation, taking his own cock in hand and aligning it with Wash’s entrance as he sunk back down against him. **“More and anything else,”** he added; he will love that man until he died and even then he’d tear through every damn afterlife to make it back to him. Maine was a Spartan after all, that’s what they did. They fought.

The pace was still slow, too slow for Maine after weeks of being denied sex—after getting his throat shot out. The expressions and sounds that he’d pull from Washington though was what kept him still as the man above him did all the work. He whined, biting at his lip as he rotated his hips, nails digging into Maine’s stomach as he brushed against his prostate. He finally pulled a wail from his lips, mouth hanging open as he aimed there again—again and again _and again_. Body shaking, shuttering as Washington took his cock in hand and moaned Maine’s name again.

That was it; he couldn’t take it any longer. Couldn’t sit back and _relax_ as his lover did all the work—that wasn’t _Maine’s thing_. Seizing the man’s legs Maine quickly flipped them, guiding the man’s legs back until his knees nearly touched the pillows. **“I keep forgetting just how limber you are, David. We should start using that more—just _think_.”** Maine smirked, ignoring the cry of frustration that Wash let out—he’d hear about how he’d pull his stitches later.

“Maine you’ll— _oh fuck!_ ” he cried out, mouth hanging open as the man slammed into him. He was _brutal_ , the beds threatening to rock apart with each thrust and the headboards knocking against the wall—they might need a new wall or headboard after this. “ _Oh! Ah!_ Oh just like that, _right there_!”

A high pitched whine caught in Washington’s throat as Maine fucked him, balls slapping against his ass, bed squeaking and groaning under the lovemaking that the pair was engaged in. Their tongue ceased forming words, moans and groans, growls and purrs only leaving their lips now as they neared their orgasms.

With one final cry Washington’s eyes clenched shut and cum squirted onto his own face. Covering him from chin to forehead; slipping into his hair as he swallowed down his own seed. It wasn’t the first time he’s tasted himself, typically mixed with Maine when he’d lick their cum from his fingers or when he’d kiss the man afterwards.

Maine came with a wordless shout, his semen seeming to _crash_ inside the blond. Coating and seeping into his very being—Wash’ll be cleaning that out for days afterwards. As the man pulled out, falling back to stretch Washington’s legs back out comfortably, Wash could feel the cum slip from his cheeks. Dribbling from his well worked hole, now relaxed and sensitive. There’d be a large wet patch there and Wash wasn’t going to sleep in it, no thanks.

They sat in silence, panting—catching their breath from the exertion. His vision returns slowly as he squints up at man sitting between his legs with a carefree smile on his lips. Wash wipes the cum from around his eyes with his arm, pushing himself up onto shaky arms before reaching out towards the man’s neck. He hesitates, fingers curling back into his palm. “Your bandages need to be changed,” he nods to the once crisp white bandages now staining pink.

Maine nods. His throat hurts after all that—after talking, moaning and growling and _purring_. He regrets nothing as Wash slips from the bed, lips pulling back in a grimace as cum oozes from his hole and slips down his thighs. Maine chuckles, pulling the man back by his hips. “Main—OH MY GOD!” He squeaks, feeling the man’s face bury itself between his cheeks. His tongue lapping up his own fluid; three swipes of his tongue is all it took for the man to pull back with a Cheshire-like grin. Licking his grinning lips, the man lowers himself back into bed.

**“Go get those bandages, I’ll be right here.”**


End file.
